The Misadventure of Oafil Hawkeye
by nolan85
Summary: In the land of Skyrim, Dovahkiin roams the province performing great deeds and heroics, waging a war on evil and bringing peace to the broken land by the edge of his sword. This story, however, is not about the dragonborn. Rather about Oafil Hawkeye, who may imagine himself as such but is more the opposite of the hero of Skyrim, venturing forth to fill his pockets with gold.


**The Misadventures of Oafil Hawkeye**

Writer's note: This story is based on the creative works of Bethesda and all content is owned by them, other than the OC.

**Chapter One Dampened Spirits**

A frigid cold wind whipped through the sleepy streets of Whiterun. The city, situated on a large hill surrounded by the windswept plains of central Skyrim, was once considered the capital of the nord province. However, over the generations the city had fallen into decay. The once great walls were now crumbling, battlements had fallen and been clumsily rebuilt into wooden watch towers. The buildings of the city were built in typical nord fashion, stone foundations laid deep into the earth, wooden pillars supporting clay walls and straw roofs, inlaid with beautifully carved horses and Nordic designs carved into the wooden supports, a monument to the past glory of the city.

A large young nord concealed under a weather stained cloak walked through the main gate and made his way down the main street. Banners snapped in the breeze as the nord limped past dark houses and empty market stalls. A sudden gust of wind tugged at the man's cloak, revealing leather armour underneath, icy fingers seemed to grip his hood and pull it from his head, revealing piercing blue eyes, a hard set mouth and matted locks of golden hair. Following the nord, barely discernable in the predawn gloom were droplets of blood.

The man stopped at the door of a large building. A swaying sign by the door revealed a warrior carrying a great banner atop a reigning horse. He swayed and caught the wall before he fell to the ground. He shook his head and heaved the door open with his shoulder and moved inside.

His eyes narrowed as he adjusted to the darkness inside. There was a bar to the right of the room, the far wall there were doors leading to rooms as well as a staircase leading up to another room, to the left a doorway leading to a kitchen, where the smell of roasting meats and herbs drifted into the common room. The Bannered Mare. Finest inn the hold had to offer. In the center of the room, a redgaurd woman struck a flint, working to start a fire that had previously burned down to embers. She stopped short when she saw the man enter.

"Hulda!" She called.

Another woman entered from the kitchen. She wore a stained apron around her waist, her auburn hair tied back behind her head, her cold eyes locked on the newcomer, her arms folded across her chest. "Oh no, you are not welcome here, Hawkeye!"

Hawkeye only staggered further into the room, empty but for the two woman. He slumped down in a chair, dropping his head down on a table.

Hulda turned toward the redgaurd, "Saadia, get that fire going." Saadia did as she was bid and continued striking the flint. Hulda stood over the table, shaking her head. "Are you deaf as well as daft? Unless you have those septims you owe me, you can leave by the door you came in."

Hawkeye sighed as he raised his head from the table, seeming to struggle at the effort. "Are you blind, woman! Can't you see I am wounded?!" The repulsive breath came forth from his mouth, invading the nostrils of Hulda. She took a step back and covered her nose and mouth with both hands.

"Bah! You're drunk!"

"Drunk am I?" His glassy eyes fixed on her "That I am, drunk on a warrior's victory."

Saadia let loose a laugh as she struggled with the flint.

Hulda brushed a loose strain of hair from her eyes, "Victory, aye? Fortunes usually follow victories."

Hawkeye slammed his fist down on the table, "Is that all you care about, woman? I saved the farmlands from a monstrous sabercat, and all you care for is septims? So be it." He pulled off his cloak, letting it hang on the back of his chair. He pulled a purse from a pouch on the front of his leather armour and tossed it to Hulda. Her hand reached out and caught the clumsily thrown purse with a flash. She weighed the purse in her hand and frowned at the drunk man before him.

"Its light… You owe me fifty pieces, not thirty."

Hawkeye pushed back from the table in his chair, revealing a bloody leg.

"You damned fool, you need healing. Why are you not at the temple?" Questioned Hulda.

"You robbed me of the last of my septims, you think I can afford a healer?"

Hulda sighed and turned toward the redgaurd, she had finally started the fire. "Saadia dear, fetch that pot of boiled wine, and some clean rags."

Hawkeye rested his swimming head on the table. He was beginning to sober. The events of last night came flooding back to him. That fool Sabjorn, owner of the meadery had paid him one hundred gold to clear out an infestation of skeevers out of his basement. Luckily the weasel had given him an advance of thirty gold before leaving Hawkeye to his own devices over the night. Hawkeye can comfort himself with the lesson he imparted to Sabjorn; never leave a drunkard alone in a meadery.

Hawkeye had found the source of the infestation easily enough. A hole in the foundation in the basement of the meadery was allowing the rats inside. Oafil pushed several large crates over the whole, successfully blocking the skeevers from the basement. To congratulate himself for a job well done he helped himself to a cask of mead, thirstily drinking the honey brew from the spout.

He came to upon the hard stone floor, his head banging. He had heard a rustling in the corner of the room. He rose to his knees and looked to the crates against the wall. They had been broken to pieces and the dark hole glared at him once more. The rustling continued. In the corner of the room a skeever suckled at a puddle of mead. This was no ordinary skeever. Its eyes glowed red and its mouth frothed with foam. Its head rose menacingly from the puddle and it's red eyes fixed on Hawkeye. It let loose with a horrible shriek and charged at the drunk nord.

Hawkeye screamed and fell back down on his back, raising his feet in the air to defend himself. He gave a hard kick to the head of the beast. His hands frantically pushed his body across the floor until he finally pressed up against the far wall. The beast came at him again. He gave a clumsy kick that grazed the ugly face of the screeching rat. It moved past his feet and it razor sharp teeth sunk deep into his thigh.

Hawkeye let a high pitched scream rip past his lips. He balled his hands into fists and threw down upon the giant rat. The beast did not seem to feel his blows and only gripped his leg tighter within its jaws. Desperate to escape, he dug his fingers into the red eyes. The skeever loosened his grip allowing Hawkeye to spring up from the floor and fall through the basement door. He climbed up the stairs, thankful to be so drunk that he could barely feel his wounded leg. Behind him the blinded beast thrashed around the room in a vain effort to find its prey.

Hawkeye limped from the meadery toward the city of Whiterun, ashamed that he had forgotten the axe that hung at his waist.

Hulda slapped him from his dozed state upon the table. Hawkeye stirred and leaned back in the chair. "Lets get these leggings off."

Hawkeye couldn't help but smile as his hands gripped the armchair and raised himself up from the seat, allowing Saadia to pull the pants off the nord. Hulda poured water over his leg, cleaning the blood from the wound.

"So you say you were thrashed by a sabrecat?" smirked Hulda.

"Aye" returned Hawkeye. The small bite on his leg told a different story. The nord grunted in pain as they poured the boiling wine on his wound.

"You now owe me thirty septims, I'm not wasting good wine on you without gold," said Hulda.

His wound now cleaned, Hawkeye limped to the far side of the tavern sitting down at a table to give him a view of the front door. He imagined that Sabjorn, the proprietor of the Honeybrew Meadery would soon realize he was a cask of mead and fifty gold poorer and still had a skeever problem. Hawkeye felt he had nothing to fear from Sabjorn himself, but the man was arrogant. Not a foolish arrogance, but an arrogance born from having powerful friends. Friends that Hawkeye would rather avoid.

Just then the door flew open, flooding the inn with morning light.

Hulda was now behind the bar. "Come in traveller. Warm yourself by the fire."

The stranger closed the door and moved into the room and looked toward Hawkeye. Hawkeye was large, wore leather armour with an axe at his hip and had the look of a seasoned warrior, though he was anything but.

"You there," said the stranger, "I am on urgent business from the Jarl. I need a guide to Bleakfalls Burrow."

Hawkeye was in desperate need of gold in his pocket, "Ah yes, I was born and raised in Riverwood, traveller. Within sight of that awful place. However there is talk of dragons about, and that ruin is far from hospitable… Two hundred gold pieces."

"Thirty gold now, and a share of the loot from the burrow," the stranger countered.

Hulda smiled from behind the bar. Hawkeye frowned, "pay the barmaid the gold, and we will be off."

Hawkeye led the stranger out of the Bannered Mare. The sun now hung low in the clear blue sky. The people of the plains city had begun to wake up. Shopkeepers were carting fresh game and produce to their stalls, and residents were coming out of their homes, blinking away the morning light.

Oafil didn't exactly relish the idea of venturing to Bleakfalls Burrow. The place was cursed. In ancient times, it was a place of worshipping the dragon gods that had ruled Syrim. It is said that the worshippers were cursed with undead, and now roam the ancient halls. Hawkeye still had no gold in his pocket and this stranger didn't look to have any valuables, so robbing was out of the question. Hawkeye had no choice but to lead the stranger to the burrow.


End file.
